Azeotrope takes us on a searing ride in their Seattle premiere of the provocative prison drama “Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train.”
By Thomas May
Like love stories, the crime-and-punishment narrative is so archetypal that it easily lends itself to formulaic entertainment. But playwright Stephen Adly Guirgis frustrates reassuring expectations of justice and atonement in Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Train. Written in 2000, his provocative drama is being given its belated Northwest premiere by Azeotrope in a deeply involving, richly orchestrated production hosted by ACT’s Central Heating Lab initiative.
The New York-based Guirgis has become highly touted over the past decade as a fresh theatrical voice willing to take on hefty themes in a style that mixes gritty, street-talking realism with agile flights of verbal virtuosity. Despite facile comparisons with David Mamet, Guirgis’s raw, tough-guy speech has a flavor all its own. Along with most of his plays, Jesus Hopped the ‘A’ Trainwas originally incubated at his Off-BroadwayLAByrinth Theater Company, where Guirgis frequently collaborates with Philip Seymour Hoffman. (Hoffman has directed the premieres of several of his plays, including Jesus.)
But it’s a challenging style to pull off — and a brave choice for the emerging Azeotrope, which does so with admirable conviction. The company made its debut in late 2010 with Adam Rapp’s study in emotional desperation, Red Light Winter— in my opinion one of the most vividly memorable productions of that season. It showed an eagerness to tackle playwrights who make unusual demands with their portrayal of not-readily-likable characters. Guirgis, who, until recently, was notably absent from Seattle stages, pushes Azeotrope even further in Jesus. This is a play whose main characters flirt with our sympathies precisely as we increasingly come to understand how deeply flawed — and even depraved — they are.
Set in the prison on Riker’s Island, the story focuses on the relationships that a 30-year-old Nuyorican named Angel Cruz develops with the attorney assigned to defend him and with a fellow inmate. Angel is initially sent to the clink for assaulting the Reverend Kim, leader of a religious cult that his best friend joined. To vent his anger over his friend’s brainwashing, Angel decides to shoot Kim “in the ass.” But the cult mastermind dies of unforeseen complications, and Angel, now charged with murder one, is sent up to protective custody. There, overseen by the vindictive prison guard Valdez, he’s drawn into exchanges with Lucius Jenkins, a convicted serial killer who has gotten religion.
The excellent ensemble, smartly directed by Desdemona Chiang, goes from strength to strength. Richard Nguyen Sloniker — Azeotrope’s founder, who also made a powerful impression in the chamber cast of Red Light Winter — explores the contradictions tormenting Angel. His multifaceted portrayal brings out the terror and confusion barely concealed beneath Angel’s defiant bravado, plausibly modulating between emotional extremes. Suspicious of the certainty and promise of salvation that made his friend susceptible to the cult, he nevertheless holds onto a mystical memory in which they both survived a close brush with death. The play is framed by images of Angel’s desperate attempts to recall the prayers of his Catholic upbringing.
But another path of redemption is held out by the born-again Lucius (Dumi), who doesn’t let the thought of the eight (at least) victims he’s gruesomely murdered disturb his newly acquired, self-righteous convictions as he fights extradition to Florida. Dumi’s dazzling and brilliant performance elicits the dangerous charisma of Lucius, his mad beatific gaze and pleasure in sun and seagulls either a masterpiece of self-delusion or a superbly executed sham.
In fact all of Jesus’s characters are motivated by the illusion of a private justice they’re entitled to, above the law, and they act accordingly, starting with Angel’s ill-fated attack on Reverend Kim. The brutality of their world is embodied most explicitly by Valdez, who’s determined to impose maximum suffering on Lucius until he sees him annihilated. But Ray Tagavilla gives us something more interesting than the cliché of the sadistic guard. The very existence of someone like Lucius is so appalling to him, a disproof of divine order, that he has to use violence to impose an order of his own.
http://crosscut.com/2012/06/20/theatre/109250/jesus-hopped-train-daring-well-executed-emergence/